Art · Writing

A Quest For Real Mail

I have to stay vigilant. My mail lady arrives at different times each day. Usually between 11:30 and 1:30 but this can be altered in an instant. Like the other day when I finally ventured out to pick up a prescription at Walgreens at 10:30 thinking it was safe to do so. But no! she is already on the main highway down the road from my street.

A dilemma faces me. Should I speed to Walgreens and hope there isn’t a long line at the pharmacy or should I go back home and wait on my front porch? I decide to turn around and follow her to my street’s row of roadside mailboxes. This way I can find out how much mail other people are getting. How long does she stop at each mailbox? Are people getting lots of packages? I have become a calculating stalker in my mostly ‘stay-at-home’ solitude. Mail is my new lifeline to the outer world. I crave anything showing up in my mailbox: the Advertiser with supermarket inserts, hearing aid ads, real estate ads, gutter-cleaning ads, pest control ads, junk mail for people who lived at my address a decade ago. I cherish them all.

I order things on Amazon almost every day just to have packages delivered on a regular basis to my mailbox or doorstep. I am highly disappointed when items are bundled together for easier delivery. I don’t want easier delivery! I want individual packages day after day after day.

Today was a bonus day. The item I had ordered was broken inside the box.  Yay!  I have to package it back up, have it picked up by UPS tomorrow and then reorder the item to be delivered next week. Three transactions with a live person for one item ordered – heavenly…

So, while emails and text messages and Facetime are sweet at this time of social separation, I want Real Mail. Solid pieces of paper and cardboard. I want to feel the paper and cardboard – after wiping them down with Clorox of course, smell the paper and cardboard – after the Clorox dries of course, examine the artwork of the stamps and savor the card or letter or even the ad/flyer whether intended for me or ‘current occupant.’


Art in the Age of Corona (continued)

May 2020

Spring is finally becoming a reality out here at the lake. I have had a series of feathered friends flying into the windows of my front porch. First a female cardinal flew against the window as her male companion looked on. After she left, a male robin repeatedly collided with the glass. When he finally left 3 weeks later, I breathed a sigh of relief, but this  morning a little sparrow took his place. Even my cats staring at them isn’t enough to scare them away… So, of course, I thought about how these actions relate to what is happening in the world right now.  An unprecedented event in my lifetime anyway. Are we all just beating our heads against the wall trying to return to a normal that no longer exists and should not be returned to anyway? Spirit is calling to us to change our habits and ways of life that no longer serve us or the planet.  Will we listen?

Over the past few months several Goddesses/Angels have come to me in dreams and visions, all of whom I have painted as directed by them. This first week of May which is celebrated by many cultures as Beltane, a time for planting seeds and the ripening of trees and flowers, brought forth Gaia to me. She symbolizes Mother Earth and brings forth abundance in nature. We must take care of our planet and honor Gaia and all the wonderful things she freely gives us.


Art in the Age of Corona

Each week, as I sit staring at a blank canvas wondering what to paint next, the face of another Goddess/Angel starts to take form. I am realizing more and more that the image is already on the canvas waiting for me to acknowledge her. Her timing is always perfect. Zanna, pictured here, proclaims: ‘You are protected from all types of harm. The worst is now behind you. I ask you to relax and feel safe.’ The worst may be behind us, but that does not mean we are to rush back into our old lives. I believe we are to take this ‘time between’ what was before and what will be in a week or a month or even a year from now and find our place in this new paradigm we are being invited into by Spirit.

I am also striving each day to create something new in my art journal. Much easier to do something small and easily completed in an hour or 2. I usually ‘sploot’ several colors of acrylic paint on a page, fold it over and press to create swirls and patterns that suggest something to me. Like the images in clouds, pictured here from a photo I took in Florida in March, suggest angels, animals, or waves on a shore, my blots of paint suggest images to me.

Sometimes it takes a day of walking past the journal lying open on my kitchen peninsula before I have an‘aha!’ moment and wings and the outline of a faceand hands holding a sacred object start to appear.The picture is from a Susan Boulet calendar I have hadfor years and the my painting above mirrors her.


Art in the Age of Corona 2020 continued

Today is Easter. It is a holiday/festival/ritual celebrated by many cultures around the globe. I have painted this depiction of Ostara the Celtic Fertility Goddess from whose name the word Easter is derived. She heralds Springtime, the time when our sun returns from the darkness of the Winter months. She also welcomes the seeds and plants to rejuvenate and resurrect themselves from the cold earth. The birds are returning from their hiatus south and the butterflies and dragonflies will soon follow. The world around us is fairly bursting with life.

Easter is a time for rejoicing. In these troubled and uncertain times we can turn to Nature to see how the cycle of life continues ever onward despite extenuating circumstances. Let Ostara be our guide and mentor as she reminds us this is an opportune time to make life changes and prepare for new ventures.

This picture is a recent page from my ongoing art journal. Even though Jesus is depicted as a baby in his mother’s arms, isn’t this where we all begin and end?

Jesus called out for his mother at the end of his life…

Michaelangelo’s famous sculpture Pieta portrays Jesus once again cradled by his loving mother.


Art in the Age of Corona 2020

These are strange times indeed. My emotions swing all over the place day by day but my artwork has given me a focus and direction for these emotions and I have found my Muses, be they Goddesses, Angels or my Spirit Guides, have been coming through to me in dreams and visions. I am eager each morning to put brush to canvas and see who emerges over the days as they come clear to me.

Here are a few of the Goddesses who have come forth as I contemplated my empty canvases:

I painted Bridget a couple of months ago and just wasn’t satisfied with her facial features so I ‘Gessoed’ over her nose and mouth Tuesday and did not realize until I stepped back what I had painted – a face mask! Was this a sub-conscious thought or feeling coming through?

Here is Bridget, re-imagined as of yesterday…a pleasant, warm smile on her face, apparently Coronavirus-free!

I also decided to participate in the #518rainbowhunt phenomenon taking over my area and perhaps the whole country by now?  I wanted to paint something eye-catching and fun. So, while getting out of my car Wednesday, I spotted this angel which was originally all white and waiting patiently in my herb garden for me to notice her potential as a Rainbow of Hope.

Art · Poetry · Writing

Treasure Island, Florida 2020

I traveled to Florida from February 28th to March 12th. Luckily was able to enjoy the sun, sand, water and sea breezes before the spread of the coronavirus cancelled or delayed events and flights, etc. I enjoyed many walks along the Gulf beach. Found many treasures washed ashore and stood one early morning between the full moon setting and the fierce sun rising.

This photo is of the page I created in my journal of treasures that washed up on shore one morning.

waves crashing on sand

slip back into ocean’s fold

leaving sea treasures

Busy little birds along the shore at sunset.

sandpipers scuttle

surveying sand for supper

spy savory snails

Another day in paradise winds down…

magic hour at dusk

lone bird flies across the sun

accent mark on sky